


Wake up, It's a Beautiful Morning

by ZaharaDessert



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Always a Gentleman, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Bartender Captain Hook | Killian Jones, Date Rape Drug/Roofies, Drinking, Emma has Walls, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Happy Beginning, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Killian is a Sweetheart, Morning After, Past Attempted Rape/Non-Con
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:02:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29021667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZaharaDessert/pseuds/ZaharaDessert
Summary: Emma wakes up in a strange bed with no memory of the night before. Luckily there's a blue eyed, gentlemanly, rogue to help her piece it all together. With a little help from his friends, and hers they might just find their Happy Beginning...
Relationships: Captain Hook | Killian Jones/Emma Swan
Comments: 12
Kudos: 73





	Wake up, It's a Beautiful Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much to @kmomof4 for the beta help and the help with really tying the story together at the end. You are wonderful, and more than deserving of this praise so sh sh shhh... it's story time. Just take the praise and be happy. 
> 
> This is my first Once fic, let alone CS fic. And it's taken a lot for me to dive into writing a new fandom when I've spent so long adamant that I don't know anything but Harry Potter well enough to write fan fic for it. So I'd like to thank everyone at CSNLNY for being the best cheerleaders a girl could ask for, and actually getting me to post this. Because when I finished writing this I was about to not post it and it would have gathered dust on my hard drive, but with some encouragement... here it is. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

There was light filtering through a gap in the curtains, and it moved over her face, the hum of a shower and the drum of the water hitting the wall started up at just about the same time. It was the combination of the two that woke Emma up; with a killer headache and no idea where she was or what had happened. Her mouth felt like the Sahara Desert and she groaned rolling away from the sunlight and reaching for her phone.

She couldn’t find it.

Suddenly, she realised how off everything felt, the sheets were cool in a way her sheets never felt, and crisper; like they used more starch than she did or just washed them more recently than hers had been. The pillows were harder than the well-used feather ones she had at home, were they memory foam? Why the fuck did she care? The duvet was thinner than hers, and she squirmed beneath it, not quite warm enough. The conclusion was that this was definitely not her bed. Which maybe explained why reaching for her phone as she normally did had not been a success.

Slowly, she opened one eye then the other and looked around. Jesus Christ that hurt. The sheets were a pale blue, and the room was sparse, like it was barely lived in. It wasn’t the spare room of someone she knew, if it was there’d likely be the smell of coffee wafting at her from the nightstand. Elsa, always the early riser, was keen to get her back into a good mood as soon as possible. Ruby wouldn’t have risen until after her, and Mary Margaret would have been playing her morning ‘elemental jazz piano’ playlist by now.

There was a painting on the wall opposite the bed, large and gaudy. She didn’t like it, and she’d sure as hell never seen it before. So where the fuck was she?

She shut her eyes again and groaned, she felt far too shitty for this kind of mystery.

What the hell had happened last night?

Again, she opened her eyes and squinted at the light on her face. She looked around for her phone and couldn’t see it. What did catch her eye though, was the laminated notice on the dresser next to the bed. She picked it up, and started to read...

* * *

#### Don’t Panic!

There’s aspirin and bottled water on the side. The bathroom is straight across the hall.

##### Where am I? 

In the spare bedroom of the bouncer or bartender you were talking to last night. You weren’t in a state to be left alone, wouldn’t/couldn’t get in a taxi and none of your friends were answering their phone.

##### Where is my…?

**Phone?** It _was_ charging on the bedside table, check under the pillow.  
  
**Jewellery?** On the side. Especially if it might have choked you.  
  
**Clothing I threw up on?** In the washing machine/tumble dryer, there’s oversized hoodies in the top drawer, lounge pants in the bottom.  
  
**Bag/Money?** On the ottoman at the end of the bed, with your shoes.  


##### What now?

Whatever you like, sneak out without a word (taxis available at the bottom of the hill), or stay in bed, there’s clean towels on the bannister, possibly food in the fridge (if you’re really lucky one of us might be cooking), wifi password is on the door of the fridge, Netflix on the TV and the dog (Wilby) loves attention.

* * *

Emma blinked, confused. She’d gone out last night? She’d been working.

She looked at the nightstand, which was on the other side of the bed to her own, and saw her phone, the led in the corner flashing green. She had messages. She put the laminated notice back down and was about to reach for it when her head throbbed nastily, and she reached for the water and aspirin instead. She took a couple of chugs before swallowing the pills and setting the bottle down.

The glare from her phone screen made her wince. She found a text from Mary Margaret asking if she was ok, and how she was sorry for not answering but she’d had a long day. Emma didn’t reply yet, she still didn’t know where she was, and she wasn’t going to tell Mary Margaret that she was fine when she might not be.

There was a missed call from Ruby, and a text asking her what the fuck she was still doing out at this time?

Elsa had sent her a text reminding her that she was out of town and would see her next week.

But this did at least prove that the notice had been truthful about one thing. She checked the time, it wasn’t late, but it wasn’t exactly early either and even the friends she knew that woke up slightly later were asking why they had missed calls, so the trying to get her home safely thing had also been true.

The sound of the shower stopped.

She really wasn’t feeling up to getting out of bed yet, but she had to know the truth. She had to know where she was and what had happened last night. She sat up slowly, and sure enough her bag and shoes were on the ottoman at the end of the bed. Another truth.

Her clothes were nowhere to be seen, she realised she was wearing a loose tank top over her bra and panties. Judging by those, she’d definitely been working last night. And the heels too, she didn’t wear those heels when she went out just to go out for herself, those were work shoes. They damn well had to be with how much they cost so she was glad she hadn’t lost one.

Slowly, her head was still pounding, she shuffled to the edge of the bed. Another few swallows of water and her mouth was starting to feel a little better. Her hair was an absolute fucking mess but that was no surprise, she’d have used product to make sure the curls stayed in for the duration of her ‘date’ and they always looked like a half crushed mess the next morning.

The carpet was coarse under her feet, and she found herself reaching for the dresser to help her up onto her feet. A fresh groan bubbled out of her throat as her head pounded and swam and her limbs weren’t as steady as she’d have liked either.

“Shit,” she hissed taking slow and deep breaths.

Why the hell did she feel this shitty? She’d been black out drunk before and she’d never felt this bad afterwards.

Still, she had a routine for days like this, discovered earlier in her twenties than she was now, and according to the notice on the dresser she was welcome to follow it. Slowly creeping towards the door, she pushed it open, and listened.

There was quiet music playing from downstairs, rock, but it hadn’t been loud enough to wake her. Sure enough, the notice proved right again, thick, large towels hanging over the bannister to the right, a door opposite her that she could only assume was the bathroom. She reached for the nearest towel, and as she did so, the door across from her opened. A man with dark hair and an impressive showing of chest hair with a towel wrapped around his waist stepped out onto the landing. The line of hair ran down over just toned abs and beneath the towel.

“Morning, lass, sleep well?” he asked with a smile and twinkle of the most incredible blue eyes Emma had ever seen in her life. She only noticed because she’d had to force her gaze up to his face when he’d spoken.

“I think so..?” she said, crossing one arm over her chest to pin the towel she’d picked up in front of her, trying to cover up some exposed skin, and shuffling awkwardly on the spot.

“Well, I’ll be cooking breakfast when I get downstairs. Bacon sound good to you?” he offered, and as she looked at him, she could see the slight concern in his gaze, the genuine offer of just wanting to make sure she ate something ringing true with her senses.

Emma nodded, with a grateful smile, doing her best to keep her gaze off his chest.

“I’d better go get on with it then,” he said, nodding at the door on the other side of the one she’d just come out of.

“Right, sorry,” she said, and stepped closer to the bannister so that he could get around her.

“Cheers, love,” he said, and for a moment she could feel his breath ghosting across her shoulder, the heat of his body behind her and then he disappeared into his room before she could say anything else.

Now that awkward encounter number one was out of the way, with a man she didn’t recognise at all, Emma crossed the landing pushing through the door he’d left ajar and letting out a breath of relief. She shut and locked the door behind her, leaning against as she looked around.

The room was simple, clean… ish… It was certainly a bathroom used by men, razors on the side, Axe Africa, three different brands of shaving cream but only one tube of toothpaste.

Men were so weird.

* * *

Feeling clean was a blessing, just like she knew it would be. That was why it maintained its position as step one of her hangover ritual, before even coffee which on a normal day was her number one priority. She had to admit that she’d liked the options of shower gel and shampoo too, even if her hair was still going to be a mess because it always was when she didn’t have the right tools to tame it.

Towel wrapped securely around her; she made her way back across the hallway. The rock music downstairs was a little louder now, but not obnoxiously so, like whoever was listening to it was still trying to be respectful. She appreciated that.

Shut back in the room, her phone was flashing with a new message. Mary Margaret was starting to worry, Emma tapped out a reply.

> _I’m alive, stop panicking, I’ll see you for lunch?_

She dropped her phone back on the bed and searched the drawers for the clothing the notice had promised. The lounge pants she found sat low on her hips due to their size, and the hoodie was soft and comfortable, the only red one in there…

Where the hell was her jacket? She was sure she’d worn her jacket last night.

Shoving her phone in her pocket, she saw the relieved reply from Mary Margaret, and knew that if she didn’t get to Granny’s for lunch her best friend would call in the cavalry. She towel dried her hair, and shivered as it settled damp around her neck, but it was almost nice, a soothing balm across the back of her neck.

Opening the door, Emma was smacked in the face by the smell of cooking bacon, and her stomach growled hungrily. She padded down the stairs in search of the promised food and found a hallway, front door in front of her, sitting room through an archway opposite the bottom of the stairs, another door next to where she stood, and the sound of the music she’d heard earlier coming from the same direction as the sizzling of bacon.

She followed the sound and stepped into a large eat-in kitchen that spanned the back of the duplex. Without warning a large tan dog barrelled into her knees, her hands dropped to the soft fur on his back, squirming a little at the wet nose that batted her hands.

“Wilby,” came an exasperated voice from the table, not the dark haired man’s. “Leave her alone…” there was a soft chuckle that followed it.

Now with open curtains and a large window in front of her, she could see that she was several stories up, and there were two men in the kitchen, one, a blonde, sat at the dining table, and the other stood at the stove, cooking the bacon.

“Morning,” she said quietly, stepping through the doorway.

“See, I told you the smell of bacon would be too much to resist,” said the blonde as he got to his feet. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he moved to a cupboard and pulled out a mug. “Coffee?” The dog, seeing the movement, immediately left her alone and was paying more attention to him than her now. She was glad, she didn’t mind dogs but this one was clearly exuberant, and she wasn’t in the mood to deal with that right now.

“One question at a time David, the lass no doubt has a horrific hangover,” said the man she’d met in the hallway, he shot her a warm smile and a wink, she replied with a tentative smile of her own.

“Coffee would be great, thanks,” she replied, looking back at the blonde, her voice still quiet and a little unsure but she managed to smile appreciatively at him too.

“Cream and Sugar on the table,” he said as he held out the mug of coffee to her. She shook her head but smiled as she took it from him, the warmth immediately spreading into her hands. She closed her eyes as she breathed in the smell of the bitter siren that was as much an addiction as the caffeine.

“Girl after my own heart.”

Emma’s eyes snapped open and took in the man at the stove. He seemed relaxed, almost as though he hadn’t realised he’d said it, like a reflex, but something told her he knew what he said, and he’d meant it. Her eyes narrowed slightly, at least he was less distracting with more clothes on she supposed, even if the tatty skinny jeans left less to the imagination than the towel did, and she could still see the chest hair at the bottom of the deep v of the t-shirt he’d put on.

“Have a seat, I’ve got to go to work, but I hope you feel better soon,” David said, snagging the jacket she hadn’t noticed off the back of the chair.

“Have a good day at work?” she ventured.

“Cheers. See you later,” he shot the latter at the guy cooking breakfast. David paused behind her and sniffed the air. “Product approval points for you too, mate,” he added with a grin, clapping the black-haired guy on the shoulder and leaving with a wave. The dog followed him out of the room, claws clacking on the floor. She could hear him whining as the front door shut.

“Product approval points?” she asked.

“Yeah, whoever’s wash products are most appreciated, the rest of us buy their drinks for the next month,” he said, shooting a grin at her over his shoulder. “So, thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Emma hummed and shrugged, before taking a seat at the table, sipping her coffee and propping her feet up on the chair next to her. The dog padded back to the kitchen and placed his head in her lap with a whine. Her free hand fell to his head. The dark-haired man watched them for a moment before turning back to the bacon in the pan. She watched him for a long moment, and she was fairly sure he knew she was too, until the soft rumbling she hadn’t taken much notice of from the little side room slowed to a stop and a beeping started instead.

“That would be your clothes,” he said, glancing over at her with one eyebrow raised. He looked her up and down too, and she supposed he’d seen what she was wearing last night. His other eyebrow twitched, and he went to set down the spatula he was holding.

“No, I can get it,” she said, setting down her mug and standing, “Unless your machine is weird?”

“It’s fairly straight forward,” he said, smiling a little. “They’ve only been washed though, Graham couldn’t find the label,” he said, scratching behind his ear.

“So I threw up?” she asked, blushing a little.

“No, love, nothing quite that extreme I assure you,” he said smiling a little more now. “But it did need a wash, dryer is through there, too. If it will survive a cycle,” he said with a twitch of his head.

“Right, thanks,” she shot him a smile and dropped her gaze, walking across the kitchen and through into the side room with the dog in her wake, though he lay down on the huge dog pillow in the corner with a huff. The man, he’d called her ‘love’ twice now, and where she hadn’t had the chance to call him on it the first time it was now clear that it was just a habit he had, and it suited him. She was quite surprised to realise that she didn’t mind, and that both times he’d done it she’d felt this warmth in the pit of her stomach. She pulled the dress out of the washing machine and threw it in the dryer, setting it up for a synthetic cycle and pressing start. She took a minute, unable to get her head around just how _mad_ this was.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and she pulled it out, a message from Ruby asking why she’d not come home last night. Immediately drawing the wrong conclusion and asking how the sex was. Clearly she’d swung by to pick up the jacket she’d left behind last week to find that Emma wasn’t there.

Emma rolled her eyes and started typing.

> _There was no sex, mind your own business x_

She locked her phone and returned it to her pocket before moving into the doorway back to the kitchen. She leaned against it and watched him for a moment before the call of coffee spurred her back into the room despite the not quite awkward silence.

She sat down at the table and propped her feet up again, the hand closing around the mug of coffee with a sigh. She sipped, and he pushed the bacon around the pan, and for a while neither of them said anything.

“Emma,” she said suddenly. Not quite sure why she’d spoken, or why she’d started with her name of all things. “My name is Emma,” she clarified.

The man looked over his shoulder and smiled curiously. It lit up his eyes and he paused for a moment.

“Killian,” he said with a nod, Emma nodded back. It was kind of awkward, but at the same time, she felt sort of comfortable. More comfortable now that she knew his name.

With a flourish he took the pan off the stove and snagged the bread off the side.

“Breakfast is served,” he said with a smile as he set the pan on the hot pad on the table and dropped the bag of bread next to it. He flexed his hand subconsciously as he took the seat opposite her, shooting her a shy smile as he opened the bag of bread and pulled himself out a couple of slices before pushing it towards her.

“Thanks,” she paused, with her hand in the bag. “For everything, I… I don’t have a clue what happened last night,” she admitted.

He looked up at her then, his eyes full of concern and she watched as his forehead pinched and his eyebrows twitched.

“Nothing?”

Shaking her head and frowning too, she got herself a couple of slices of bread out, buttered them and then added ketchup before grabbing the bacon he’d left her. She took a bite and chewed as she thought, trying to make sense of the jumble in her head.

She swallowed and watched him for a moment, blushing a little when he looked up at her. His eyebrow moved again, and his eyes flicked over her face, his expression now half concern half mischievous.

Emma dropped her gaze.

“I… I was at work last night, and I… I don’t remember anything past ordering food,” she said, not looking up at him.

“What do you do?” he asked, sounding cautious about his question, and she realised how what she’d said must have sounded.

She laughed, and then winced as the pain in her head increased for a moment and sympathy flashed in his gaze.

“I’m not an escort, I’m a bail bondswoman,” she told him as the mirth danced in her eyes. “I was picking up a skip last night,”

“Ah,” he said, his eyes returning the mirth in hers. “Honey trap,” he said with a wink.

Emma blushed.

“Well, love, I certainly see why that works,” he flirted, and Emma stuck her tongue out at him, a little surprised at herself but it felt natural. “I should confess, I’m not the reason you’re here, that would be my flatmate, Graham. He’s still asleep,” he said. “He’s the bouncer, I’m the bar manager, and Dave is a beat cop,” he explained.

“And I’m assuming from that laminated notice you guys regularly bring home overly drunk women to make sure nothing nefarious happens to them?” she asked, amused.

“Aye,” Killian replied with a wry smile. “That used to be Robin’s bedroom, but since he moved in with his now wife a couple of years ago… The art on the wall is something her mother sent her and she didn’t want it in her house,” he added with a grin and Emma smiled. She had to admit that art was not something she’d really got the impression either of the guys she’d met so far today had picked.

“So… if I was talking to Graham last night… and you were working the bar last night?” He nodded in confirmation of her query. “When did I get to the club, and how much did I have to drink?” She knew she didn’t manage to keep the worry of not knowing off her face. She had to know what had happened, how she had let herself get like that.

“I didn’t serve you a single drink, you were pretty out of it when you came in…” he said, worry creasing his forehead even more. “Emma, you did talk to me, briefly, and Graham, and you weren’t making a lot of sense. We tried to get you to go home, but you said you couldn’t find your key, that someone had taken it,” Killian swallowed and looked down at the table before looking back up at her. “Emma…”

“So I don’t remember anything past ordering food at the restaurant I met the skip at,” she said slowly. “And I don’t drink more than a few sips of wine when I’m working, yet when I turned up to… whatever club you work at I was off my face.”

Killian’s expression had darkened as things started to click into place, seemingly for them both.

“What time did I show up?” she asked, now more than a little worried about where she’d been and what had happened to her.

“About ten-thirty,” he said slowly. “I was surprised you even got in, that’s why I didn’t serve you and told you to go and speak to Graham about a taxi, you did exactly what I…” a look of absolute horror crossed his face as the reality of what must have happened dawned on him. “Emma, I’m so sorry, I…”

“So, you’re thinking what I’m thinking then?” she asked him, her whole body getting more and more tense by the second.

“Shit, I should have seen it,” he slammed his fist onto the table, making both their plates bounce against the wood. “How could I have been so stupid!”

Taking slow, deep breaths, Emma reached out and placed her hand over his. He looked down at their hands, seemingly confused. But even now, feeling like this Emma couldn’t deny what that contact with him did, the way it made her heart skip.

“I’m fine,” she said, trying to keep her voice even, even as the tension in her body was making her head pound and her chest ache.

His eyes flicked up to take in her face and he shook his head. “No, you’re not,” he was serious now, there was no amusement in his eyes like there had been a mere moment ago, and their bacon sandwiches lay forgotten on the plates between them.

“Can you really read me that easily?” she asked, her voice almost trembling.

“I couldn’t last night,” he said bitterly.

“This isn’t your fault,” she insisted.

“No, but I should have seen it, I’ve done days and days of courses about how to spot it, what to do…” He shook his head and pulled his hand away and Emma wished he hadn’t.

She felt suddenly alone, and vulnerable, and terrified about what might have happened if the three men in this duplex hadn’t been the men that they were. She pulled back her arm slowly, suddenly wanting to leave, to lock herself away from anything that could hurt her.

_How had this happened?_

She was so careful. She was always careful; this was why she didn’t drink when she worked. But then she wore those slutty outfits and seriously, how the fuck was Killian, who had never met her before, supposed to know that she wasn’t just drunk?

“You panicked when you couldn’t find your keys in your bag, so instead of putting you in the taxi, Graham brought you back inside. You didn’t stop panicking, and you locked yourself in the staff bathroom,” he explained. “Graham managed to talk you down, but,” Killian paused. “You were frantic, but everything he asked you to do, you did it…” Killian looked pale, almost sick as he went over what had happened last night. “You said you only had a couple of mouthfuls of the wine you ordered?” He looked up at her then, and she nodded, as her hand moved to pick up her coffee without even thinking about it.

She couldn’t believe it, she honestly couldn’t. Had he put it in her glass before she’d even sat at the table? Had it been a waiter? Someone passing by while she was looking the other way? Had she blown her chance to pick up the bail jumper? Had those couple of sips been enough for him to convince her to drink the rest? The ‘date’ had started at eight. What had happened in the two and a half hours between then and turning up at the club?

Emma ran a hand through her still damp hair, shivering suddenly with the chill of cold realisation. Her bottom lip started to tremble, and she practically dropped the mug, feeling very suddenly like she was about to throw up.

“Bathroom,” she hissed.

“This way,” he stood and moved quickly ahead of her, pulling open the door next to the front door to reveal a half bath.

His hands gathered up her hair as she moved past him into the space with her hand over her mouth and pulling the toilet seat up, she was only just in time.

Shivering now, her tears almost as much to do with the fact that she’d just thrown up, in front of the most gorgeous man she had ever seen no less, as they were to do with what had almost happened last night. She could feel his hand rubbing circles on her back as she reached for the toilet paper to wipe her mouth with.

She could hear him talking, trying to soothe her, but it was like he was speaking from a distance and she couldn’t make out the words. His hand left her back, and she heard the tap running, finding a glass pressed into her hand. With trembling fingers, she raised the glass to her lips and sipped, swilling her mouth out and spitting the foul liquid into the toilet.

She pulled the flush lever and sank back away from the bowl, her breathing shaky as she felt his arms wrap protectively around her.

“Tell me what you want me to do, love, let me help, please,” he whispered.

With a sniff, she settled back into his arms.

“I don’t know,” she whispered through the tears. “I don’t…”

“Should I call David? He can get a kit, I…” Emma shook her head, turning in his arms and started to sob into his chest. “It’s alright, love, I’m here, nothing else is going to happen, I promise.”

Again, him calling her ‘love’ caused a bubble of warmth to grow in the pit of her stomach, and she fisted her hands in the back of his t-shirt.

Emma didn’t hear the door open, but the footsteps on the stairs were loud enough to draw her attention.

“What’s goin’ on?” another deep, this time quite groggy voice answered.

Killian shifted, and was clearly mouthing something up at the third man of this trio. Graham.

“Shittin’ hell,” he said, scrubbing his hand over his face. “At the club or before?” he asked.

“Before,” Emma managed to choke through a sob.

The next noise sounded like someone had punched a wall.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No, no,” Killian said quietly, holding her a little tighter for just a moment. “You have nothing to apologise for,” he said. “I’m sorry we didn’t see it,” She could hear the bitterness in his tone, almost feel the anger on her behalf pouring out of him.

“I should have been more careful,” she whispered.

“This isn’t yer fault,” Graham said at the same time as Killian pulled back and looked down at her, shocked.

“Emma, no, don’t do this to yourself,” he said, his gaze full of concern, and Emma truly believed that he genuinely gave a shit.

But she couldn’t handle that kind of sympathy, the kind that insisted that this wasn’t her fault. That was protective and overly caring. She just wasn’t used to that. She was a loner, and Elsa, Ruby and Mary Margaret were the closest thing she’d had to family, ever. But here she was faced with three men who had gone out of their way to look after her, one of which had the ability to read her like an open book apparently.

And that terrified her almost as much as not knowing what had happened.

She saw him see what was about to happen, saw the concern morph into worry and self-chastisement for his actions, and he hadn’t even done anything wrong. He was already letting her go when she moved.

Emma pushed away from him and got to her feet. Graham took a step back to let her past him as she tore up the stairs. She moved on auto-pilot as she headed for the only place she could think of that they couldn’t follow, darting left into the bathroom, slamming and locking the door behind her.

Breathing heavily, she pulled her phone out of her pocket. But her hands were shaking so much she got her unlock pattern wrong five times and it froze her out for a minute.

There was a soft knock on the door, and she dropped it.

“Emma, love, I’m sorry,” came Killian’s voice from the other side of the door.

“I’m not your love,” she snapped, her voice higher pitched than she’d have liked, and immediately regretted what she said. This did not happen to her. This was not what she was like, she didn’t do hysterical. She did putting a boot on his car, pulling a gun, and shooting the asshole if she had to.

“Alright.” She could hear the effort it took him to not add in that little term of endearment after it. She swallowed thickly and almost apologised for snapping at him. “Tell me what you want me to do, please.” He sounded almost desperate to make up for his mistake last night.

Emma sat on the edge of the tub, gripping the edge of it to try and ground herself but it wasn’t working. She took a deep breath and could smell the products she’d used still lingering in the humid air, those same products she’d smelled when she’d been crying in his arms.

“I don’t know, I…” she laughed, it was harsh and humourless. “This is so not me…”

“It’s alright, Emma. Would you like me to make some suggestions?” he tried, clearly wanting to try anything, or maybe just keep her talking.

“Okay,” she said. Suggestions were good. He’d said he’d had training for this, so… maybe he was the one to ask.

“There’s a bacon sandwich and a half-drunk coffee that’s got your name on it…” he started, trying to break the ice a little, Emma didn’t say anything, and he seemed to get the message that humour wasn’t the way to go just yet. She heard him sigh, and she could tell she wasn’t going to like what he said next. “I’m not going to tell you what to do… but… I would strongly encourage that you go somewhere that they can provide you with a rape kit. Not knowing what happened… well, ignorance isn’t bliss. If you know what happened then you can deal with it.” There was a long silence and neither of them said anything.

Emma hugged herself around the middle, missing the warmth of his arms in that moment, and that surprised her considering what she might have been through last night.

“Emma?” he asked carefully. “Is there someone I can call for you, lo-,” he stopped himself mid-word, and she heard him sigh in frustration. She knew it was at himself, but she sniffed, a little stung by it all the same.

Emma sank to the floor and picked up her phone. She tried to unlock it again, but her hands were still trembling too much.

“I can’t even unlock my phone,” she muttered, feeling useless.

“It’s alright, Emma, can you let me in? Will you let me help?” he asked, clearly making a concerted effort to make them all questions, requests and not commands, putting her back in control of the situation.

“I…” Should she? Could she? She’d trusted him a couple of minutes ago enough that she’d collapsed into him as she cried…

“I swear to you, nothing is going to happen that you don’t want to happen. You’re in control. I’m not going to do anything you don’t ask me to,” he said, his words slow and gentle through the wood of the door, but she could detect the hope in there, too. The hope that she would let him help her.

Slowly, Emma uncurled herself from the floor enough to reach the lock on the door. She turned it and pulled down on the door handle. Killian sat on the top step, facing the door, but leaning against the bannister, leaving her room to get in and out of the room should she wish.

Once it was open she retreated a little and he smiled carefully.

“Thank you.”

“I’m sorry I snapped at you, I…”

“It’s fine, I… I understand…” he said quietly, and Emma looked up at him, fixing him with a hard and intense gaze that almost seemed to make him cringe.

He did understand. He wasn’t just trying to placate her.

Emma felt sick all over again and she looked away.

Her phone vibrated and a message flashed up from Ruby. What she could see of it, almost made her start sobbing all over again.

> _Oh come on Emma, I know you got some, and I will get all the…_

Ruby wasn’t even being insensitive, she was teasing. She knew Emma had been out at work and the one thing Emma would never do was sleep with a sleazy skip. If she knew what might have happened, she’d never have even thought such a thing.

“Emma?”

She pushed her phone towards him without another word, and he picked it up, there was a long silence.

“You need to know, Emma,” he said quietly, carefully.

She looked at him and the way he was looking at her she was fairly certain _he_ also needed to know.

Not knowing what had happened would become a doubt, a doubt that festered and grew like a cancer inside her head.

“But I showered… what if…”

Killian moved closer, holding out his hand.

“Hey, this is our fault, not yours, we put your dress in the wash, we didn’t take you to the hospital last night, we brought you back here. This is _not_ your fault, Emma, please,” he looked so earnest when he said it, so disappointed in himself.

Emma shook her head.

“It’s not your fault either,” she whispered, taking his hand.

“How can you say that?” he asked.

“Because it’s true.” She looked up at him and there was an almost mischievous twinkle in his eyes.

“So is what I said, love.” There was a flicker of apology in his eyes as he said that last word.

“I know.” It was barely even a whisper, and her throat closed up around it. It felt like it was choking her.

She was almost crying again, and Killian was there, just there in front of her but also in a way that no one in her life had been for her before. It was unconditional, unreserved and genuine. It was enough to stop her heart in her chest for a moment and make her breath hitch.

She looked away, pulling her hand back and taking a deep breath.

“I need to go to the hospital,” she said, clenching her hands into fists. “I need clothes, and I need…” she was shaking now.

“I’ll find something, hang on,” he said, getting up.

She heard him walking away, and without him there, without his simple solid presence, she could feel the cracks starting to form in her resolve. The trembling in her fingers grew and soon her whole hands were shaking.

Moments later she heard him coming back, the quick footsteps that made her look up at him. She knew from the expression on his face that he could see the fear and desperation in her eyes. She hadn’t realised she was already crying again, and that it was that which had called him back to her.

“I’m sorry, I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” he said kneeling beside her and hovering with his hand an inch from her shoulder.

Emma nodded and his hand moved that last inch. She let out a sob and turned into him again. His arms moved immediately, curling round her shoulders, holding her up as she clutched the front of his shirt.

God, she was pathetic.

Pathetic and useless and she couldn’t handle thirty seconds without a man she’d _just_ met.

“Would you like to come with me to find you some clothes, love?” he asked carefully.

Emma nodded into his shoulder and Killian pulled back enough to help her to her feet. Taking his hand, she followed him into his room. It was significantly more lived in than the room she’d woken up in, but she found that comforting.

“I think I have some of my ex’s stuff in the bottom of the wardrobe,” he said, and found a pair of boots that were only one size too big for her, a pair of jeans and some underwear.

Emma decided to keep the hoodie and when Killian lent her a t-shirt, she smiled at the band logo on it.

* * *

She called Mary Margaret on the way to the hospital. Killian had to unlock her phone for her because her hands were still shaking. She was going to come and pick her up when they were done, whether that be at the hospital or the police station.

Graham had pulled her dress out of the dryer, knowing they’d need to hand that over. He’d also collected up her shoes and put them in the bag along with the underwear she hadn’t bothered to put back on after her shower and her leather jacket, which she’d been carrying when she walked into the club and had ended up being left in the staff bathroom until he’d gone back to finish his shift and had picked it up. It had been in their hall closet.

Killian paid for the taxi and led her inside. He spoke to the nurse at the desk and they were ushered into a private room. The nurse tried to make him wait outside, but with a simple “Please,” from Emma he was allowed to stay.

He held her hand as she talked the nurse through what had happened, what she hadn’t realised until it was too late, and handed over the bag of clothes.

Everyone was kind, talked her through what was going on, asked her permission at every stage, but it was Killian’s hand in hers, whenever it was able to be that kept her together.

When it was finally over, they sat her down, Killian next to her, still holding her hand. She couldn’t bear to let it go, not now, not when he had been there for her all day, not in this moment when she might need him most, as selfish as that was.

“Miss Swan,” the doctor said, her voice gentle and Emma pulled herself out of her stupor and looked at her. She smiled and she couldn’t tell if it was encouraging or sympathetic. “We cannot find any evidence of sexual assault, even on the clothing that didn’t get washed. There’s no evidence at all that you were involved in sexual activity last night,”

Emma let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding, and quickly sucked in another, almost hyperventilating in her relief.

“Slow breaths, love. You’re alright,” Killian said quietly, giving her hand a squeeze.

“I’ve got a couple more forms for you to sign, and then it’s up to you whether you take the drugging issue to the police or not, but then we’ve got all the paperwork straight here in case you want to.”

“But there was no evidence of…”

“No, but the fact that you came here with a very clear gap in your memory, plus eyewitnesses to your behaviour,” she glanced up at Killian and smiled. “Again, just like everything we’ve already done, this is totally your choice,” she assured her, turning the forms around.

Emma took the pen she was offered and signed all the forms before heading out to make sure her insurance was taken care of.

Now that she knew that the worst hadn’t happened, she almost expected him to leave. But he didn’t. He was there, stood at her elbow, still lending her his strength for as long as she would let him.

She sent Mary Margaret a text and got an immediate response that she was on her way.

Emma walked over to a bench to wait and Killian followed. For a short while neither of them spoke, just sitting quietly in each other’s company.

“How can I ever repay you for what you’ve done for me today?”

“You don’t need to, lo-“ he started and Emma shot him a look. “I just mean that, I’m glad to have been there for you today,”

It wasn’t a lie. He was, but as he held out his hand, she hesitated.

Killian wasn’t quick enough to hide the flicker of hurt in his eyes when she didn’t take his hand, but he swallowed and held her gaze.

“It’s alright, Swan,” he assured her, raising his hand to scratch behind his ear and shooting her that mischievous smile. “I get it, you’re strong and independent and leaning on me the way you did today, needing me to be there for you, it isn’t you.”

Emma opened her mouth to say something, but she wasn’t sure what to say. Once again he’d read her like an open book. He’d hit the nail on the head, and she couldn’t deny it. She couldn’t lie to him because he’d see it.

“I still got drugged last night, Killian, even if nothing else happened. I have never been that terrified before in my life, not even when I went to…” she stopped suddenly, realising what she’d been about to reveal and blushed.

“You’re not the only one with a past, Swan,” he assured her kindly.

“I know, but my past is why I am the way I am,” she said, frowning at how that sounded. Wasn’t everyone the sum of their experiences?

Killian only smiled and looked away.

“I needed to be there for you today, because I failed you last night. I should have paid more attention and…” he sighed. “There’s something about you, Swan, every time I look at you, I catch my breath. I haven’t felt this way since… I didn’t think I could feel this way after my ex…” he sighed and shook his head, turning his arm to show her the tattoo she’d been too self-absorbed to notice.

“Milah?” she asked, reaching out to graze her fingers over the tattoo.

He swallowed visibly and she felt his arm tense under her fingers.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be, Emma. I…” he swallowed again and then a smile broke across his face, and was that hope in his eyes? “Why don’t I… give you my number, and when you’ve had time to process what’s happened, you can decide if you want to give me a call?”

Emma swallowed and nodded. He wasn’t asking her for anything she couldn’t give. He wasn’t asking for anything, except to put his number in her phone. She pulled it out of her pocket and handed it over.

He unlocked it and quickly added himself into her contacts, even snapping a picture so that she couldn’t be mistaken as to who he was. She couldn’t help but smile, in spite of everything that had happened.

Emma took back her phone and slipped it back into her pocket.

They sat in silence for the few minutes until Mary Margaret showed up. It wasn’t awkward or tense, in fact it might even be described as companionable, were it not for the glancing and the almost blushing and the way Killian kept scratching behind his ear.

Emma couldn’t help the way she retreated behind her walls, protecting herself, especially after last night. She was reassured by the test results but that didn’t make it any less unnerving to not _know_ what had happened. But Killian, he’d helped calm her, he understood. He’d been there and as much as he said she didn’t owe him anything, she was grateful.

“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For everything.” She glanced across at him as he looked at her and they both smiled.

* * *

“Hello?”

Emma bit her lip and blushed as the lilt of his voice washed over her and was very glad he couldn’t see her right now. Mary Margaret and Ruby were both hovering though, nodding encouragingly. Elsa was hanging back, a little more reserved in her excitement. Emma rolled her eyes and backed out of her bedroom, firmly shutting them in.

“Hey, Killian?” Why was that a question? She recognised his voice. “It’s Emma, Emma Swan,” she said as she headed past the bathroom into the living area.

“Well, isn’t this a wonderful surprise? I was starting to think you’d deleted my number,” he said, trying to sound blasé, but not quite succeeding.

“Yeah, I… No, I’m not even going to try and make up an excuse because you will see right through it, I just… I needed to catch that perp before I could call you. I don’t do crying mess. I do catching the bastard and seeing him behind bars,” she said, shaking her head and scuffing the toe of her boot on the kitchen floor. 

On the other end of the line Killian let out a soft chuckle. “Should I be worried you’re more Dave’s type than mine?” She could tell from his tone he was teasing and she returned his chuckle with a short laugh of her own. Even from the maybe a minute she’d spent with him, David had come across as more of a brother figure to her. 

It was only when she’d finished this thought she realised she hadn’t responded to his quip and for a moment the silence hung between them. It was almost awkward, but, just like it had that morning before everything had gone to shit, it was also strangely comfortable.

Emma leaned back against the counter. “Look, I… I called to ask you out… to dinner, or something.”

“Oh,” he sounded shocked but pleased.

“So, um…” she paused. “What do you say?”

“I happily accept on one condition, love. You let me plan the evening,” he said, and she frowned.

“I know how to plan a date, Killian.”

“You know how to catch a perp, I know how to plan an evening out.”

If he’d been in front of her, Emma would have glared at him, but he wasn’t so she settled for a sigh instead.

“Fine," she said with a roll of her eyes and a smile evident in her tone.

“How’s tonight?” he asked, a little tentative.

“Quick planner huh?” amused that he seemed to not want to waste time. If she was honest, neither did she. He didn’t reply and she chewed on her lip for a moment. “Yeah, I can do tonight.” She wasn’t sure why she was nodding when he couldn’t see her.

“I’ll pick you up at seven then, Swan.” His voice was a little lower, almost eager and she could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he started making plans.

“Okay.” It was all she managed to say, her heart pounding in her chest almost loud enough that she couldn’t hear anything else as she smiled. Her stomach fluttered like it hadn’t in over a decade, or maybe even ever.

“See you tonight,” Killian’s voice was lower again, it was a promise that made her heart flutter. All she managed was a soft ‘mhmm’ and then pulled her phone away from her ear to hang up.

She took a deep breath, her mind racing. Her stomach was in knots and utterly terrified, but it felt good.

It felt right.

To her left a high-pitched squeal started, getting louder and suddenly she was engulfed in a hug. Struggling to breathe, Mary Margaret was squealing in her ear.

“I’m so proud of you, Emma!”

“Let her breathe, M’s!” Ruby laughed, and Emma felt another head on her other shoulder. “She can’t open her heart to love if you’ve suffocated her before I can find her the perfect outfit.”

“Oh, God. Why did I tell you two about this?”

“Because then they’d have tried wheedling it out of me, and I’d have made them call you to get them to leave me alone…” Elsa said with a grin.

* * *

“…And that was when David decided it was a good idea to dance on the table while singing the national anthem,” Killian said, barely containing his own laughter as Emma was almost crying with it as she tried to climb the stairs up to her apartment.

“You’re joking,” she wheezed as she clutched the bannister, looking back at him.

“I assure you, I’m not,” he promised, and Emma shook her head at him incredulously.

“You’re all crazy,” she said, turning and continuing the walk up the stairs.

“Aye, love, that we are,” he replied, the smile evident in his voice as their tangled fingers dragged him up the stairs after her.

They stopped climbing at the next landing, and ventured down the hallway, Killian still following along behind her. She could feel the way his fingers hooked around hers, like he was worried she’d disappear if he let go. She smiled over her shoulder at him, unable to quite get her head around the fact that she’d just been on her first actual date in over a decade.

She turned to face him as she stopped in front of her door, not letting go of his hand. She took a breath as she looked up at him, the laughter still in his blue eyes as they tracked over her face in that same way he’d been doing all night, like he couldn’t believe it was her in front of him. It made her stomach clench, but not unpleasantly, and she couldn’t help the shy smile and the blush that crept onto her face. She looked away.

“Killian,” she said quietly, wanting to look up at him, wanting to try and read him as she spoke. But she didn’t dare. She wanted what he was willing to offer, he… he was a good man, kind and thoughtful and… “Thank you, for tonight…” she began, not quite sure where she was going with this, but she had to try, he deserved that much. She sighed and kept her eyes on their entwined fingers, and she felt his loosen a little as she searched for the right words.

“Swan, it’s alright, you gave me a chance, that’s all I ever asked you to consider,” she looked up at him then and while there was disappointment in his eyes, there was also understanding. “I’d hoped for more, of course I did, but I just… wanted to make sure you knew not all men were…” he paused and scratched behind his ear.

“No, I…” she reached for his other hand, and entwined a second set of fingers with his as she looked up at him. “I know the way we met wasn’t exactly…” she failed to find the word she was looking for and pulled a face. He nodded, and she ploughed on. “But you stuck by me. I was practically a stranger and you…” she took a breath and looked around. “I don’t want to have this conversation out here, but…”

“No pressure, this isn’t you inviting me into your bed, we just have some things to talk about,” he agreed.

Emma swallowed and nodded before reaching into the pocket of her leather jacket and pulling out her keys. She let them in and turned on the light, suddenly glad that Mary Margaret had insisted on tidying up a little before she’d left.

“Drink?” she offered, heading for the kettle, intending to make herself a hot chocolate.

“Please,” he replied, moving to lean against the counter next to where she was filling up the kettle.

Emma could feel his gaze on her face, watching her as she poured water into the kettle. “Hot chocolate alright?” she asked, opening the cabinet to her right and grabbing a mug, glancing across at him and retrieving a second mug when he nodded. She scooped powder into the mugs with a sigh and turned to lean back against the counter next to him. Behind them the sound of the kettle was the only noise apart from their breathing.

“My parents left me on the side of a freeway when I was a baby. I never got adopted, I never found a family. When I was a teenager,” she continued with a sigh, “I trusted someone I shouldn’t have, and he set me up. I went to jail for something he did. Since then, I’ve protected myself the only way I knew how. I refused to let anyone else get close enough to hurt me.” She looked across at him then, and his gaze was intense as he listened to her story. “That day I was more vulnerable than I have let myself be in my entire life, and you took care of me, without question. I…” the kettle clicked off behind her and she jumped, turning to finish making the hot chocolate. Her hands were shaking, and she had to put the kettle down.

“Let me,” he said gently, reaching around her to take the kettle. “Why don’t you go sit down, love, I’ll be there in a minute.” Emma nodded and moved over to the sofa, curling her feet underneath her and picking up a cushion, hugging it to her chest.

She watched as Killian worked in her kitchen, a soft smile curling one side of her mouth, pouring the boiled water into the mugs and stirring.

“There’s cinnamon in the same cupboard the cocoa was in,” she said quietly.

Killian looked over his shoulder and nodded, adding cinnamon to one and then hooking the handles of both mugs in one of his and heading over to the sofa, where he took a seat next to her and handed one of the mugs over.

“Thanks,” she said and took a sip. For a moment they both sat in silence sipping their drinks. Emma’s mind was reeling, but at least for the moment her hands weren’t shaking. She needed to tell him why she couldn’t rush this, why she needed his patience for a little longer. She leaned over and put her mug down on the coffee table. “For the first time in my life I don’t want to run, and that’s more terrifying than being sent to jail for something I didn’t do and having no one to turn to. More terrifying than thinking I’d been…” she blinked and looked away. She didn’t want to cry again; she’d cried more in the last month than she had in probably her entire life. “I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever cared about. They’re most likely dead, abandoned me, or betrayed me and I… The only reason I have Mary Margaret, Ruby, and Elsa is because they spent years worming their way into my life… I… I’m scared because this means something,” she admitted quietly.

“It’s alright, love,” he said, putting his mug down too, reaching out and placing his hand on her arm and Emma sucked in a breath at the way her stomach fluttered at the contact. “I’m no stranger to losing people, and you’re lucky, Swan. Not only am I a survivor, just like you… but I also happen to love a challenge. I’m a fan of every part of you, including your walls, because I have a hell of a lot of respect for a woman who can come out the other side of the kinds of things you have.” She believed him, everything about his expression was earnest and she had to blink and look away. “However long it takes, for me to scale them, or take them down, brick by brick. I’m not going anywhere.”

Emma searched his face, and he searched hers, watching as his tongue swept across the inside of his lip when his gaze dropped to hers. Her breath hitched in her throat, and before she realised what she was doing…

No, that was a lie. She knew exactly what she was doing. She wanted, and she was going to have what she wanted, walls and her past and her shitty relationships be damned. Everything he’d done was without expectation, and he’d never lied to her. She wanted this and she would have it.

Emma grabbed hold of the lapels of the leather jacket he hadn’t taken off when they came in, and pulled him towards her, crushing their lips together. She watched his expression change as she pulled him in, honesty to surprise and then to a hunger that meant there wasn’t even a beat before he was kissing her back. His hand moving to her hair as his head tilted, their breath hot and heavy as his tongue pressed into her mouth.

It was like fireworks going off in her head as her hand moved into his hair and his arm snaked around her waist to pull her closer, knocking the cushion to the floor. Emma moved into his lap, twisting her head to change the angle of the kiss and his other hand moved to her waist and she felt a fire in her belly like nothing she’d ever felt before. Pressed against him she could feel everything she’d seen when she’d met him on the landing of his apartment wrapped in just a towel, and what his tight jeans revealed every time she’d seen him since, hard planes of muscle and a hardness that was extra obvious when she arched into him, pressing her hips into his and drawing a groan from his mouth.

She pulled back, breathing heavily and let their foreheads rest together.

“Swan…?” he breathed, his hair dishevelled and his eyes dark with lust.

“That was…” she started, closing her eyes and heaving in a breath.

“Tell me that wasn’t a one-time thing, love. I…” she opened her eyes and looked into his. His desperation was honest and open; he wanted just as much as she did.

“It wasn’t… but…” she brought her lips to his again, softer, sweeter this time and pulled back after a short moment. “Be patient.”

Killian sighed but nodded. “I have all the time in the world,” he said, giving her hips a reassuring squeeze. She smiled and stroked his cheek affectionately.

“Wanna see what’s on Netflix?” she asked, biting her lip in her uncertainty. He’d taken her hitting the pause button well. She’d understand if he felt like he needed to leave because it was now going to be too awkward, but the smile that broke across his face, the warmth in his eyes that seemed to override the lust in an instant was more than she could have hoped for.

“Sure, anything you want, love.” He leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cheek.

She smiled afresh then and shifted off his lap to settle next to him. She shrugged out of her jacket and tossed it onto the accent chair in the corner. As she reached for the blanket on the back of the sofa, he did the same, then grabbed the remote off the coffee table. Emma took it, and turned on the television, settling next to him as he put his arm around her shoulders.

She took a deep breath and as his fingers started to draw careful patterns on her shoulder, she felt herself relax again. This was just as terrifying as it had been ten minutes ago when she’d invited him in, but she didn’t feel the desperate, clawing urge to run that she’d been so used to feeling her whole life.

Emma didn’t want to go anywhere. She wanted to stay, she wanted to trust, and no amount of fear was going to stop her from trying any more.


End file.
